Smokable Smut
by BGTMx2
Summary: A fanfic about crack pairings. Released in trios. One fic per author per one pairing. How hard can it be? Warning: "amlmost semes gay". Reviews appreciated.
1. Sbarry: Muscle Envy

Some words of introduction first of all: Something something Larry Larry. Holy crap.

Uh, what I actually MEANT to say was that this is Band8PGeek, DeterminedX2 and She Who Must Only Be TM speaking. This is a dual – well, technically trio – account, and this fic is one of our cowrites/brainchilds. We might get suspended for this collaboration like this, but who are we to back down from bad ideas, right? :P

What this fic essentially is, to précis the matter, is a series of crack fics about SpongeBob crack pairings. We'll release three fics per pairing in this one big collab, a one-shot by each author. So we're basically the SpongeBob equivalent of The Bad Four in the PPG fandom, except we all know how THAT turned out.

That said, on to our first dealt-with pairing, SpongeBob/Larry.

Brace yourselves…

* * *

**Muscle Envy**

**Band8PGeek's version of SpongeBob/Larry**

Sandy and SpongeBob were more than friends. There was no denying that.  
Sandy and Larry had obvious chemistry. There was no denying that either.

To be honest, it was pretty hard to keep up with every change in the non-existent love triangle. That was probably because Sandy didn't really have time to focus on her love life to begin with, what with all the work for the evil overlord monkeys and all. But it was still fun to speculate what would happen.

Some said the poriferan would eventually snap and murder the lobster to get his way. Some said that the muscleman would naturally fend him away with his awesomeness. Squidward said that Sandy was probably a lesbian anyway.

So they'd all be surprised to learn that SpongeBob himself reckoned that she would actually be better off with the lobster.

It seemed a rather reasonable claim, actually. After all, one showed up the other in almost every respect, including all the important things.

Larry had muscles on his muscles on his muscles. SpongeBob struggled to do 100 thumb-presses.  
Larry was an expert at saving lives on the beach. SpongeBob denied all undersea physics by being unable to swim.  
Larry was uber-popular. SpongeBob was a super-nerd.  
OK, so the cool one wasn't nearly as absorbent, but he made up for that in being so utterly tasty. And when was the last time you saw sponge on the menu?

Oh. Wait. Sponge cake. Sponge cake is tastier than boiled lobster. Except if you're Squilliam, I suppose, the little anti-sweet-toothed nympho.  
But that's not the point.

One was everything the other wasn't.

What was it that Larry had told him once? "Face it, I'm gonna get the girl in the end, SpongeBob. Because I'm just awesome that way."  
Sponge didn't stand a chance.

He had no choice…he'd better give up his girl. Even if his heart broke in the process.

* * *

He did it.

Sandy and Larry were now the talk of the town. They were practically everywhere on the media – newspaper, radio, talk shows… Larry had now got the chick.  
He'd won.

SpongeBob knew it was for the best. He knew his inferiority compared to his rival for her affections. His was the right decision.  
So why did his heart still hurt?

He still felt a pang of pain when seeing the couple together. He still felt those weird little feelings down below…couldn't explain what they were. He'd forfeited the competition – he should have learnt to forget the girl, right? He should learn to not be such a sore loser. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, after all.

Oh god, there they were again. Sandy looking uncharacteristically soppy, Larry showing off his trophy girl as usual with those big muscles of his. The muscles SpongeBob failed to possess.  
They looked so perfect together. The ideal muscle couple.  
_So why did his damn heart hurt?_

Maybe it was because, deep down, he still felt for Sandy.

Or maybe… perhaps… it wasn't Sandy he felt for…

Yes…it made sense, in a weird way. Larry was his superior, and that's bound to draw some psychological attachment to begin with. Like placing someone on a pedestal.  
Yet it couldn't be. He couldn't suddenly switch affections from Sandy to Larry just like that. Not simply through muscle envy.

Yet…he had.

And somehow, he couldn't help but think that if he'd just learnt to swim to begin with, he wouldn't be in this mess.


	2. Sbarry: Mouth to Mouth

DeterminedX2 here. Never thought I'd write this pairing, but here we are. Expect more craziness in the future, folks.

**Mouth-to-Mouth**

SpongeBob sat in the sand at Goo Lagoon. Beside him were little sand sculptures, or in his eyes, the model of his brilliant plan. One of the sand creations was a tall mound with a rock on top. Nearby was a carved dip that the waves had filled with water. Between the two were various miniature sand sculptures and rocks.

He picked up the rock atop the tall mound. "Hello, Bikini Bottom!" SpongeBob said in a deep voice. "I am Larry! Sitting on my lifeguard tower! I'm so big and strong!"

With his other hand, he tossed a small, square pebble into the shallow pool of water. "Oh, no!" he said in his own voice. "I'm drowning! I hope somebody big and strong comes and saves me!"

"I am so I shall save you!" he made the bigger rock say. SpongeBob reached into the water and pulled out the square pebble with the same hand. "Goodness! He's unconscious!" SpongeBob paused to wink. "I must perform mouth-to-mouth resuscitation!"

The sound of a throat clearing caused SpongeBob to freeze. He glanced behind to see two fish staring with confused faces.

"Bahahahaha!" he laughed nervously. "I-I left my Mermaid Man toys at home," he quickly lied.

The fish shook their heads and kept walking.

Rather than risk his _oh-so-clever plan_ —as he thought — he decided to quit procrastinating and carry it out.

He walked into the lagoon. With each step, the water became higher. Eventually he couldn't reach the ground anymore, which was when he launched into a scream.

"Help! Help!" SpongeBob called, trying to put on his best performance. "I'm drowning!"

Back at the beach, Larry heard his cries. "Finally! Someone to save!" he said. He jumped off the lifeguard tower and swam to where SpongeBob was thrashing about. Just as he approached the supposed victim, SpongeBob sank under the water. Larry dived and grabbed him.

The lobster drug him back ashore and tossed him on the ground. SpongeBob wasn't moving. "Stand back, everyone!" said Larry. "I'm gonna have to do CPR!"

'_This is it!'_ thought SpongeBob. He could barely keep up his unconscious charade with so much excitement.

The blow came down hard on SpongeBob's chest. Then just as forcefully as the first, Larry geared up and slammed his claws on SpongeBob a second time. "BREATHE!" he shouted. He raised his arms again, preparing for another painful compression.

"Whoa, I'm alive!" SpongeBob exclaimed, suddenly popping up. He couldn't stand the pain; this was definitely not what he was expecting.

The small crowd that had gathered around cheered for brief moment, then quickly dispersed.

* * *

SpongeBob sat, sulking in the sand. He was somewhat watching the volleyball game nearby, but mostly he was brooding about his failed plan.

"Why didn't Larry perform mouth-to-mouth?" he asked out loud.

Scooter just happened to be passing by and heard the sponge's question. "Dude, they did away with that!"

"They did?"

"Yeah, dude! Now it's just, like, those chest hitting things."

SpongeBob watched Scooter walk away, then turned back to the volleyball game. It was Larry's turn to serve. The lobster raised his arm back, but as soon as his claw touched the ball, it popped.

"Whoops."

Both volleyball teams simultaneously turned on him. They became very angry, shouting insults. "That was our only ball, ya jerk!"

SpongeBob watched the scene and got an idea. He formed himself into a ball and called to the crowd, "Hey, guys! You can use me!"

They shrugged off the weirdness of it and accepted his offer. Soon the game was back on. SpongeBob was bounced back and forth over the net. With each volley he said, "Ouch, ouch, ouch …"

During one play, Larry reached up to spike the ball. His claw popped him on impact. SpongeBob deflated like a balloon, and started whizzing around as the air escaped. The crowd's eyes followed his darting motions all around the volley court.

Eventually he landed near the stands. Larry broke away from his team and rushed over. When he arrived, SpongeBob was lying on the ground, shaped like a crumpled piece of trash.

"Sorry about that, dude!" said Larry. SpongeBob didn't respond. " … dude?" Still no response. "Guess I have to blow you back up or something." Larry took a deep breath and then put his lips over SpongeBob's. He breathed deep into the sponge; SpongeBob expanded slightly. Larry repeated the process until SpongeBob was round again. Just as he was nearly his former shape, Larry felt something odd. A tongue.

Larry startled. That wasn't something unconscious people normally do. So he decided to reciprocate with something lifeguards don't normally do either: kiss back.

They were practically making out when the sound of a throat clearing made them pause. Larry turned to see two fish giving them weird stares.

"Uh … I left my normal volleyball at home?"

The fish shook their heads and kept walking.

SpongeBob giggled and whispered to Larry if he would like to do this again sometime. Except, perhaps, a different kind of blowing.


	3. Sbarry: Untitled by TM

**AN: Why yes, this IS Tampon Masturbation, broadcasting from the BandGeek and DeterminedX2 joint account. Scary stuff here, man. Scary stuff. As if my solo account hasn't ruined enough lives, I've now decided to sneak up on unsuspecting reader's under the proxy of a joint account. Oh well.**

**I can't really tell you anymore about this crack fic than has already been stated by BandGeek. But I CAN tell you that . . .**

**Nope. Nothing to tell. Enjoy the smut (as my submission to Sbarry should rightly be genred)! Hopefully there will be more to cum. With different pairings, of course.**

The fun part of being a tough guy was shocking people with the fact that you could, in fact, be quite gentle.

Well, okay, so his motives weren't exactly altruistic. But it wasn't that he was using SpongeBob for sex; he was just exploiting their relationship for physical pleasure.

Wasn't that a typical masculine thing to do? Just because they were both dudes didn't mean he wouldn't be treating his man like the king he was.

Or queen, in this case. Whatever.

SpongeBob's adulation of the lobster wasn't so surprising, really. After all, Larry had it all: looks, muscles, the ability to fill out a Speedo-what WAS shocking was the fact that Larry didn't exactly mind the sponge's quirky affections.

In fact, he sort of . . . liked it.

Just enough to get aroused ever so slightly.

It did make work slightly awkward-what with the tight-fitting man hammock of a Speedo. But what did Larry care? He was a lifeguard, for Neptune's sake. He could do whatever the hell he wanted. If he wanted to fuck another man up the ass, he'd do it! To hell with the beach patrons; they paid extra for this shit on pay-per-view anyway. They should be grateful to be getting such a show for free!

Okay, they never did it (and by "it", I think you know what I mean) on the beach.

Almost, but that doesn't count. It ain't butt sex unless ya squirt, after all. That was Larry's philosophy, anyway.

SpongeBob's philosophy was . . .

Well, actually, he didn't have a philosophy about sex.

Not (according to SpongeBob, anyway) that the poriferan hadn't had any sex, or something ludicrous like that. He confessed to his many conquests all over town, detailing in sordid, highly inaccurate, juvenile details.

Yeah. SpongeBob, player of Bikini Bottom. Larry didn't even bother sarcastically cutting down these bold faced lies his admirer fed him. Because, trust me, Larry had had sex with a LOT of fish, and even a few mammals. And SpongeBob . . . well, he . . . well, words failed to describe his sexual finesse, or lack there of. In fact, SpongeBob was so awkward, so utterly dreadful on nine different levels, so tragically BAD at sex, that it was a major turn on.

Virgins were always Larry's weakness.

Domination was a glorious Speedo Larry wished to slip on everyday. That had been the problem with his relationship with Sandy; she'd always been on top. Totally awkward, with her being a female, and him having to wear that stupid water helmet. Being ridden by a woman of a different phylum was so emasculating.

SpongeBob and Larry were both invertebrates. And SpongeBob, although new to the task, was totally game for (if not totally adept at) taking a cock up his tight virgin everything (we're talking multiple openings, people-no limits).

True, he did cry a little. Or a lot, as the case may be. Whatever. Everyone did, their first 40 times.

But Larry always knew how to cheer him up, which was really all that counted. Especially since he didn't want to dishearten the sponge too much, lest he decide to take his so-bad-its-good ex-virgin faked-studliness to someone else. Like Patrick or Squidward or the various other men SpongeBob alluded to lusting over.

It was a total pain in the tailfin; generally, getting the lover content was what you did BEFORE penetration. Afterwards, they should be grateful for cab fare, at best.

But back rubs and subtle flirtatious compliments were a small price to pay for what Larry got in return:

Arousal.

Plain and simple. Larry hadn't been turned on in quite a while now. It was intriguing to get feverish for someone so . . . so . . .

Adoring.

True, Larry was used to adoring fans. It was all part of the lifeguard shtick.

He just wasn't used to adoring them back.

No, that was wrong! He didn't _adore_ SpongeBob. He was totally, unequivocally turned ON by SpongeBob, but he didn't gush over him. He told all his lifeguard buddies about the awesomely bad-yet-hot sex they had, but he didn't giggle coyly about the spooning afterwards, or the early mornings of clumsily dressing in the dim morning light, pretending not to be ogling the other while simultaneously realizing your own personal physical flaws, silently laughing and sobbing at the childishness of it all.

He didn't tell about the clichéd rage he'd feel whenever he heard someone cutting SpongeBob down. Mostly because it was Larry's friends doing the cutting and, well, SpongeBob didn't seem to notice anyway. Plus, it was the lobster who'd instigated these insults in the first place (although admittedly this had been long before the terribly-wonderful intercourse). SpongeBob had always been such an easy target.

So why was Larry the one knocked over?


	4. Planktrick: Reprogramming

Awight. Second pairing. And this one was way easier to write for me. Writing for Plankton is inevitably fun.  
Notes: this is dialogue only, there is reference to Honest Loss in this, and Karen talk is represented by single apostrophes meant to stand in for speech marks as I have no other way of distinguishing her from the other's talk.  
Ready? Break!

PS: Something we forgot to mention the first time round: We don't own SpongeBob SquarePants or any of his subsidary...sexualities.

PPS: Reviews would be nice.

* * *

**Reprogramming**

**Band Geek's version of Patrick/Plankton**

Knock knock. "Plankton?"

…

Knock knock knock. "Plankton? Are you in?"

…

Ratatatatatatatatat. "Oh _Plaaaaaanktooooooon_--"  
Creeeak. "Geez, I was coming across the floor! Gimme a break!"  
"Hey Plankton. Whatcha doing all the way down there?"  
"Just contemplating one of several evil plans to steal the Krabby Patty formula and eventually take over the world."

"..."

"You know, the usual stuff."  
"Oh, right right. Hey Plankton, would you mind if I asked you something? I know I'm not supposed to talk to you much what with being the frycook of your enemy and all, and this might sound a little weird, but Sandy's not around, and, well, you're the smartest guy I --"  
"Get to the point, cretin."  
"I was wondering if you could, uh…do me a favor?"  
"Sure, I have nothing else to do in my pathetic world-domination free existence."  
"Awww, _pleeeease_? I'll do anything! I--"  
"I said yes I would, you buffoon."  
"I'll even--oh."  
"Now quit complaining and tell Uncle Plankton what the matter is."  
"Ooooh, I have an uncle now."  
"No, it's a rhetorical expre—"  
"Can I call you Uncle Planky?"

"..."

"No, Plankton, wait, come back, I'm sorry. I'll be serious now."  
"You'd better be."  
"…See, I was wondering…I…well, uh…"  
"Are you going to tell me the problem or not?"  
"_WelliwantyoutoreprogramPatrick'sheadtomakehimthinkhe'sinlovewithme._"

"…"

"…"

"I didn't get any of that."

Breathe. "I…want you to put something in Patrick's head to make him think he's…in love with me. Just…a little personal thing. Nothing special."  
"…That's it?"  
"Am I in trouble?"  
"No, I mean…that's all? That's all you want me to do?"  
"Well, yes, if you can-"  
"BWAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHA! Wow, for a second there, I thought you'd be getting me to do something complicated."  
"You mean you can do it?"  
"Of course I can do it, you naïve fool. It's part of the job description."  
"But you technically don't have a job. You don't have an income."  
"Hello? Evil scientist, remember?"  
"Oh."  
"So, what's all this for, SpongeBrain? Gluttonous desires getting the better of you again?"  
"No. I mean, yes. I mean…partly yes. I…you could say I want Patrick to be able to find the good side in me more often."  
"Wow, I'm sarcastically overwhelmed."  
"He doesn't think I'm…good enough to be with him…_that way_. I'm too loud, too obnoxious, too honest…"  
"…too open with evil geniuses…"  
"He…he thinks I'm…ugly. P-Plankton…am I ugly?"  
"Oh cry me a river, you big baby."  
"Huh?"  
"I mean no no of course not. You're a beautiful young sea lemon."  
"So will you do it? Just this once? I won't ask you to do it again."  
"No, I'm washing my hair."  
"But you don't-"  
"I've already committed myself to your insidious project; I have no choice but to say yes. Otherwise I'll get bogged down in yet more of your sob story."  
"Wow! Thank you, Plankton, thank you thank you thank you--"  
"But if you don't get out of my doorway in 5 seconds, I will take back my commitment and burn you with the intensity of a thousand suns."  
"Oh, OK. See ya later, Plankton!"

…

"Did that really just happen? Did the foolish young frycook just openly walk into the blatantly obvious trap of **trusting **me? Does he really think I'm that stupid? This is the perfect opportunity for me to finally take advantage of the fool! I'll reprogram the starfish's head all right, but I'll add a few subliminal desires into the bargain…desires to become the Chum Bucket's best customer and tyrant! And then he'll HAVE to steal the secret formula for me! Whoo, this is just too perfect!"

'With all due respect, Plankton, I don't see how that'll-'  
"Karen. Gift horse. Mouth. Shut up."

* * *

"Wow, Karen, this is going to be great! My perfect plan is unfolding right before my very eye!"  
'Where have I heard all that before?'  
"That fool Patrick will walk right into the Krusty Krab and officially announce his disownment of the glutton he used to be. Then he will openly rush into the Chum Bucket and order a Chumbalaya right in front of Old Man Krabs!"  
'Plankton, do you ever get the feeling that this is going too perfect?'  
"Uh, I, don't know what you're talking about, Karen."  
'You know perfectly well that this plan will not work, and you know why? Because it's you, Plankton. You've got the bad luck curse.'  
"You're such a bitch, Karen."  
'You say that like it's a bad thing.'  
"Shsh! The starfish is walking in…he's opening his mouth…he's giving the announcement… he's…he's…

"Oh god… He just…"  
'Ordering a dozen Krabby Patties wasn't part of the agenda, right?'  
"Now now, Karen, don't panic, he might just be demonstrating his distaste for…them…"  
'Explain the fact he just ate them all up then.'  
"I…I don't understand… he was supposed to denounce the Krusty Krab and declare loyalty to **my **restaurant. Why won't the fool do it?"  
'I don't know. Try actually accepting the fact that your plans suck once in a while.'  
"Shut up, Karen, and go get me the programming I used on him."  
'Yes, your Maliciousness. _Geez, hope I didn't offend the little son of a –_'  
"I heard that, wife!"

Clunk.  
"Now, let's see…_IQ quota, no, no… Relationships, not important…_Ah, there it is. Food taste. 'Absolutely holds a complete distaste towards' – the Chum Bucket? That wasn't what I put down!"  
'No shrimp, Shellock.'  
"…Oh god. That means that…I've pulled a sitcom switch!!"  
'A what?'  
"I accidentally put the love that was requested in the Food Taste section instead of the Relationship section!"  
'There's sections?'  
"You know what I mean! Now he loves the Krusty Krab more than ever! My brilliant plan, undone!! My evil plot, ruined!"  
'Uh, Plankton—'  
"I'm angsting now, Karen. Please leave me alone. **OH GOD, WHYYYY?!**"  
'But Plankton, if one got switched around, that means--'  
"Karen, shut up. **Neptune, why hast thou forsaken me?!**"  
"Plankton, I--"  
"**What?! What do you have to say that's so damn important?!"  
**'If the intended love for the sponge went in the Food Taste section, it only stands to reason that the love for the restaurant went in the Relationship section.'  
"And what does that have to do with--"

**Slam.  
**"Helloooooo sugar daddy! I hope you've got your shrink machine ready, coz I'm horny, outta character and ready to rock!"

"..."

'...'

"_Oh…oh shrimp._"


	5. Planktrick: Another Failed Attempt

DeterminedX2's author's note: Please ignore the double possessive there. I'm pretty sure that's breaking some kind of grammar rule. Anyway, this little fic is a semi-parody of the episode "Plankton!" Just wanted to say that for anyone who hadn't seen it (or has forgotten.) In other words, it's a bastardization of the episode for the purpose of the next pairing, Plankton / Patrick. Enjoy.

* * *

**Another Failed Attempt**

Plankton had exhausted his supply of ideas to steal the Krabby Patty secret formula. After years of attempts, the creativity in his plans had dwindled so low that his only option was to recycle old, failed ones. Surely a second try would succeed, he thought. They couldn't be that bad; he went to college.

He'd change the recipient of his brilliant plan, of course. He made a SpongeBob robot, not unlike the time he made a robot of Mr. Krabs and infiltrated the Krusty Krab. But this attempt too failed, as the crustacean immediately grew suspicious when the SpongeBob impersonator didn't jump for joy at the chance for a triple shift without overtime pay. Then Plankton tried to hijack Squidward's brain, like he'd done to SpongeBob the first time they met. Things were going fairly smoothly until he realized that Squidward didn't know the formula nor did he have access to it.

Third time's the charm, Plankton figured. If a reused plan could count as only the third time. If he couldn't get to SpongeBob or Mr. Krabs, perhaps he could get to someone close to one of them. Someone who'd eagerly enjoy swapping secrets. Secrets like the Krusty Krab formula.

Plankton waited patiently near the side of the road that night. Last time it was in the middle, but he learned his lesson the first time he got stepped on.

Finally Patrick approached, walking home from a big meal at the Krusty Krab.

"Pssst, young man," said Plankton.

"Huh?" Patrick stopped. He didn't see anyone. "Are you a street ghost?!"

"What? No! Look down here."

Patrick followed the sound of Plankton's voice. He spied him on the ground. "Oh, you're a small ghost!"

"I'm not a ghost, you simpleton! I mean …" Plankton's harsh voice softened. He had to stick to the plan. And the script. "… listen. I just want to talk. You could say we're friends, right?"

"No."

"Acquaintances?"

"No."

This was familiar. Luckily, Plankton remembered from before that the next suggestion SpongeBob had agreed with him on. "Well, we're both invertebrates, aren't we?"

"No."

Plankton growled under his breath. Patrick wasn't following protocol. "Yes, we are! What did you think we were?"

Patrick put his hand on his chin and thought hard. It was a painful experience for someone who used his brain as little as he did. He knew what _he_ was — or at least, he thought he did — though it never really crossed his mind what Plankton was.

Plankton grew impatient. "Well?! Are you just gonna stand there with a blank expression on your face all night?!"

Patrick didn't answer. His mind was too busy trying to figure out what Plankton was. He finally arrived at a conclusion. "Oh, I know what you are! You're a green jellybean, right?" His mouth watered at the thought.

Plankton almost scolded the starfish for his stupid comment, but he stopped himself. Patrick seemed to think favorably of jellybeans. What harm could be done letting him think he was one? "Suuuure," replied Plankton slyly. "I'm whatever you want me to be."

Patrick continued to drool on himself as he stared down at Plankton. "Mmmm …"

"You see? Everything works out. I have something for you." Plankton patted at his sides. "It's in my secret compartment." He kept searching but couldn't find it. Plankton nervously glanced back up to Patrick to gauge his reaction. The starfish was absentmindedly gawking down at him, almost in a trance. "You know what? The gift … it's the gift of song. To establish our friendship."

Patrick didn't move. He was still drooling on himself, with his eyes now focused in two different directions.

"I'm sure you've sung the FUN Song …" said Plankton. " … with a certain friend." Plankton waited for Patrick to nod and asked, "A certain friend you share secrets with?" Patrick nodded again. "Heh heh heh …" Plankton laughed evilly, rubbing his hands together. "Perfect." Then he straightened up; he didn't want to blow this. "I mean … well, I have a song much better than that old FUN Song. It bonds people twice as strongly!"

"Ooh … what is it?"

"It's the CHUM Song! Would you like to sing it with me?"

Patrick would do anything he said at that moment. Because Plankton was looking like the tastiest piece of candy in the whole deep blue sea to Patrick. "Sure!"

"C is for companionship betweeeeen us!" sung Plankton, in the tune of the Fun Song. "H is for how much fun we'll haaaaaave! U is for …" He hesitated. " … uranium … bombs?" he muttered. He'd just figure out something better later. The tune picked up again and he continued in his loudest voice, "M is for you MUST GET SPONGEBOB TO TELL YOU THE KRABBY PATTY SECRET FORMULA!"

Patrick was so frightened by the sudden, angry change in Plankton that he turned and ran all the way home to his rock screaming.

* * *

Plankton took a deep breath. He was in front of Patrick's house, preparing himself to knock.

It'd been a few days since the song incident. At first Plankton had just written it off as another failed attempt. But he couldn't deny an odd sensation he'd felt that night. It was similar to when he'd sung the FUN Song with SpongeBob some time ago.

"I feel all tingly inside … again," Plankton had said after his encounter with Patrick. He thought he'd just made up that nonsense about it bonding people twice as strongly. It was just a lie, or so he thought, to make his version sound better. Yet it strangely felt true, like an ironic self-fulfilling prophecy.

Patrick was also affected by the incident. He couldn't stop thinking about Plankton — that tasty looking little jellybean. Every time the sea star thought of him, his mouth watered uncontrollably. It was an odd desire.

Plankton finally knocked. The rock unhinged upward, revealing Patrick. They stared at each other for a moment.

This wasn't part of Plankton's scheme anymore. Of course, if it happened to end in him getting the Krabby Patty secret formula, you certainly wouldn't hear any complaints from the little copepod. But right then he was taking a small detour from his plan.

* * *

It was a brief affair. Literally for Plankton, as he was a married creature. But just like Plankton's past FUN Song-induced friendship with SpongeBob was short-lived, this relationship met a quick end as well. It only lasted one night. They had a bit of fun with Mermaid Man's belt — not on Wumbo, mind you. Good thing SpongeBob never returned it.

But Patrick decided it was best to end the affair after just that one evening. He soon learned that Plankton didn't taste like a jellybean at all.


	6. Planktrick: Big, Scary and Pink

AN: Why bother with an author's note? Nobody's even reading these fics anyway.

**Big, Scary and Pink**

"You know, with a little inspiration, I just might be able to build that shrink ray faster," Plankton smiled up at his tool-er, I mean lover.

"Uh, I thought you said the shrinky thingy was already made."

"I told you, it's malfunctioning."

"Then make it un-malfunctioning-y. I thought you were s'posed to be a genie."

"Genius."

"Bless you."

"I didn't sneeze, you stupid piece of-look, Patrick, honey cakes, baby doll . . . I COULD risk using the, as you called it, "shrinky thingy" now."

"Cool."

"But I just couldn't BEAR anything befalling my precious little love muffin. Capiche?"

"Sure. Let's do it."

"Do it? We can't until I fix the . . .oh, you mean you want me to shrink you anyway. I just told you it won't work!"

Patrick rolled his eyes. "And I told you to fix it. You don't have very good listening skills."

"And you don't have a functioning brain, you sad excuse for a lower life form! Uh, I mean . . ." He trailed off, no need to correct his insults. After all, Patrick wasn't listening, instead digging adventurously at his belly button.

Besides, Plankton didn't need to use his awesome brain skills. With Patrick on his side, nothing could possibly go wrong. And, Patrick being the starfish he was, Plankton wouldn't have to wow the him with amazing logic. He just had to impress him with more carnal desires. Then there'd be no stopping the tiny Cyclops.

"You know, I think I DO know how to fix it," Plankton pondered allowed.

"Watcha need?" Patrick asked.

"Oh, just a little something. A certain ingredient to a certain formula that a certain friend of yours knows . . ."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Where could he have been? Patrick ALWAYS walked him home on Wednesdays. It was part of their routine. Wednesdays-walk home, grab the nets, hit jellyfish fields. Or, during monsoon season (when things were much too windy), watch Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy reruns.

"Maybe he's mad at me," SpongeBob said smally, hand shaking as he unlocked his front door.

Had he done something wrong? He MUST have! Why else would Patrick not be waiting for him after work on a Wednesday, leaving poor porous SpongeBob to trudge home alone? Why-oh why . . .

Why were there rose pedals on the floor?

And why were they leading up the stairs, into the bedroom?

And what were Patrick's shorts doing on the ground? Unfolded, no less! SpongeBob's obsessive compulsive disorder freaked at this point. Unfolded trousers would be the death of-

OH MY GOD! WHY WAS THERE A NAKED PATRICK IN HIS BED?!

"Hey SpongeBob," Patrick said smoothly, hands behind his head, flower pedals adorning his lush body as well as the mattress he currently inhabited.

"Um, hi Patrick. What are you doing here?" SpongeBob glanced about the room, taking stock of everything except his nude best friend.

"I wanted to see you. Why don't you join me?" Patrick patted the mattress suggestively, sultry voice cradling the out-of-character dialogue carefully.

It had taken for-EVER to memorize these lines, and he was NOT about to disappoint Plankton now. Even if this part coming up did seem a little selfish and wrong, just to get a little action with the megalomaniacal entrepreneur.

But antennae were so sexy. Surely SpongeBob would do the same, in Patrick's place. They'd all have a good laugh about this eventually.

Or not. But Patrick would have one hell of a fun night (or midday, in this case).

"Um . . . no, I'm good over here," SpongeBob said uneasily. "You, uh . . . you lost your shorts . . ."

Patrick frowned, searching for the proper response. "Uh . . . you look tense. Why don't I-"

"NO! That's okay!" SpongeBob held out his arms as Patrick slowly approached him. "I-I-I-Patrick, what are you doing?"

"Trying to make you more comfortable."

"Yeah, but that's my belt-HEY! Let go of my waistband, please. Don't pull off my-"

If Plankton tasted half as good as SpongeBob, tonight was gonna be one delicious night (well, midday). And Patrick knew delicious; he was obese.

But no time to think of that (hell, Patrick didn't think anyway). Time to get that secret ingredient.

Plankton had said if he'd loosen SpongeBob up, he'd spill everything.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Got it, babe!" Patrick ran in, container in hand.

"GREAT! Now just-"

Patrick wheezed, hands on his knees as he piteously regained his breath. Four hundred yard sprint, and after such strenuous labor at the pineapple, too. It really took its toll on a fatass, ya know? "Just-give-me-a-sec-ond," He panted.

"Oh for the love of-GIVE ME THAT!"

"Sure thing, boss!" Patrick complied, tossing the metal bucket on top of the copepod.

"Careful!" Plankton barked, shimmying out from beneath. "You could have spilled it!" His eye shone, awe in his voice. "I can't believe it's finally here. The secret ingredient! I've waited so long. To think, all I had to do was-"

"Fuck SpongeBob," Patrick completed.

"Hey, would you cut back on the profanities, tubby? We're trying to keep this T-rated here!"

"Sorry, hun."

"I can't believe he'd actually tell you-"

"Well, actually, he didn't tell me. I found it myself!"

"That boob actually kept the secret formula in his house? That idiot!" Plankton cackled. "So where'd you find it?"

"Oh! Well, it was just like you said. After I fu-"

"RATINGS, Patrick!"

"Uh . . . made love-"

"Better, but you could have said "had sex". But whatever, the romantic angle works."

"Right. After we did that, he'd spill the ingredient. So I just waited until that happened and I just got it off the sheets. And my stomach."

"Huh? Got what?"

"The ingredient. He spilled it, so I mopped it off the sheets and my stomach and put it in that bucket. Don't worry, I tasted it. It's the real thing."

Plankton glanced into the bucket (harder than it sounds; first he had to CLIMB the bucket and balance on the rim), fearfully eyeing the cloudy white liquid. "Wait a minute. Are you saying this is . . .?"

"Secret ingredient? Yup. Like you said, he spilled it, alright. All over the place. He spilled it pretty fast, too. And he was crying, too. Must have been pretty embarrassed about giving away the secret formula, huh? And he was blubbering something about loving me or something. I dunno, I wasn't really listening. Anyway, I did just what you said. Sorry there isn't more, I got kind of hungry on the run here and I sorta ate some of it. But I still think you have enough for-"

"Oh god," Plankton turned away, greener than usual (if that's even possible)

"Did I do good?"

"This isn't the secret ingredient, you TWIT! This is just . . . UGH! I can't believe even YOU could be so STUPID! What kind of restaurant do you think this IS? This is the Chum Bucket, not the _Cum_ Bucket!!"

"So when are you gonna finish that shrinky thingy?" Patrick asked eagerly, still sexually unsatisfied (glutton in the sack as well, eh?).

"Out," Plankton pointed to the door, voice dull in disappointment, rage, and disgust.

"Does that mean we're not gonna do it?' Patrick asked meekly.

"Out!" Damn, he'd have to turn Karen back on. And she'd probably still be pissed about the affair that never was. He never should have divulged this plan to his wife.

He almost preferred keeping the pink blob around but . . . no, it was time for the next ill fated scheme. He was almost through with the Russian alphabet now . . .

"Well then, can I take the secret ingredient with me? I'm still kinda hungry . . ."

"GET THE HELL OUT!"


	7. DirtyBob: Fan Service

I feel ill. And not related to crack pairing, either. I was seriously sick during the writing of this chapter. I'll just upload it and go to bed.

**

* * *

**

**Fan Service  
****Band8PGeek's version of SpongeBob/Dirty Bubble**

"According to Paragraph 82 of Section D of the contract which binds me to BBTV State Studios, I am legally obligated to do whatever my fans request of me no matter how mundane or utterly stupid said request may be under threat of prosecution."

Boring words. Perhaps even the disclaimer equivalent of valium. But The Dirty Bubble had to say it in response to every fan's pleas. _Every…single…one.  
_"Dirty Bubble, can I have your autograph?"  
"Can I PLEASE blow my nose on you?"  
"Put on a purple thing and dance around, Dirty Bubble!"  
It didn't matter what was said, by law he had to do as he was told.

He didn't want to do it, but if he refused he'd lose his job. And the job of being the most famous and highly-paid supervillain in "The New(?) Adventures of MermaidMan and BarnacleBoy" was one he did not wish to lose, thank you very much Sir or Madam.

Why so high a price for not obeying a fan though?  
You see, since the show's somewhat dubious revival, it had gone from strength to strength, until becoming the highest-rated show for "old folks and aspiring sidekicks alike", as one critic put it. With this came a sudden 'burst' (pardon the pun) of popularity for the Dirty Bubble and his awesome surface tension.

Unfortunately, some of this came one day under the guise of a little square dude with a fan streak that wouldn't quit.

"You don't understand! You're my favorite supervillain! Can I have your autograph?"  
A quick autograph in the middle of a hero torturing session he could just about handle, but when the pencil was as sharp as the one his fan held, why take any chances?  
"Oh no! Oh no, stay back, you fool…the point! **WATCH THE POINT--**"

Pop.

It really should've ended there. But by the time he was restored, he was facing the business end of a court case for refusing to sign his signature of his rabid fan's notepad.

It was madness, as he put it at the time. How could he sign an autograph that would kill him? He didn't even have hands! And he was in the middle of being a supervillain at the time!  
Sensible arguments that won him the battle. But ultimately, he lost the war – his employers didn't want to risk something that could lose them money again, and so amended his contract, forcing him to do his fans' biddings. Further refusal would result in a sacking.  
And sacking meant bad news for the world's prime dirtbag.

So he had to say the words, every time someone asked him to do something. The same disclaimer, over and over.  
T'was mundane, but it wasn't as if he had a choice.

Of course, something had to give eventually. And it did, after a particularly unusual request.

He should have known it was bad when it came from the one that got him into trouble in the first place. "Hey! Hey, Dirty Bubble!"  
"Oh Neptune, not you again," he sighed, with more of a hint of cynicism. "Haven't you caused me enough trouble already, sponge boy?"  
"Yeah, I'm sorry about that," came the sheepish reply. "I don't know what I was thinking there. Suing my favorite bad guy; what came over me?"  
"If you don't have a point, go away. I've got an invisible boat mobile to sabotage, oh ho."

"Well…" The obligatory shyness and foot twist. "Actually, I've got another request. This may sound really weird, but…"  
"But what?"  
"Well…could you have sex with me?"

The bubble literally stopped floating here.

"No, wait, hear me out here. I…it's always been my…well, fantasy…to have sex with a supervillain. And, well, since Squidward—I mean, Reflecto is out of commission…I mean, you're the best villain I know, and…"  
This rambling was getting him nowhere. "Well, I said it. If you find it weird, you can tell me to go away. I won't mind."

YES he found it weird. More than weird – it was unspeakably creepy, and a little bit sick.  
But he couldn't say so. He couldn't refuse this crazy request.  
Due to one stupid freaking amendment.

"According to Paragraph 82 of Section D of the contract which binds me to BBTV State Studios, I am legally obligated to do whatever my fans request of me no matter how mundane or utterly stupid said request may be under threat of prosecution."

As soon as the deed was done, The Dirty Bubble rushed to the office of his big boss. Fu-  
"RATINGS!"  
-uh, make love the contract – no multi-million salary was worth sex with SpongeBob.

He didn't appear in the next episode. Or any since.


	8. DirtyBob: Every Villain Is Lemons

DeterminedX2's author's note: here's my version of the SpongeBob / Dirty Bubble pairing … probably based more on "Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy V" than II.

* * *

_Every Villain Is Lemons_

SpongeBob rounded the corner of yet another boulder. He'd trekked to the outskirts of Bikini Bottom, to a seemingly abandoned area at the bottom of the cliffs. Up above at Makeout Reef was a different story, but there was nearly half a mile of towering rock between him and that hormone-laced ecosystem.

He was looking for the infamous lair of EVIL — otherwise known as Every Villain is Lemons. SpongeBob didn't understand the 'lemon' part but that wasn't his current concern. He'd heard from Plankton who heard from Mr. Krabs who heard from Squidward who heard from Patrick who heard from Sandy who heard from Larry who heard from the mailman who heard from the nurse who heard from Barnacle Boy who heard from Mermaid Man who heard from the Atomic Flounder that the Dirty Bubble was dead. Popping was the apparent cause of death.

Of course, going through that many people meant it was only hearsay. SpongeBob wouldn't believe it until he found out for himself. He would be shocked if the rumor was true, as he'd seen the Dirty Bubble, healthy as someone that unsanitary could be, just three days ago. _'He just can't be dead,'_ thought SpongeBob.

At the foot of one of the cliffs he spied the odd structure: an opening into the rock's wall with a hand written sign that spelled out the meaning of the name's acronym. Surrounding the entrance were a couple baskets of what appeared to be lemons.

SpongeBob curiously picked up one of the fruits, wondering why they even bothered with a front when it was quite obviously a secret hideout. Why else would a 'lemon stand' be in such a deserted area? Not only that, but the group used to proudly announce their name, trying to garner a reputation. Why go through the extra work of putting up a front for the place — especially one that didn't even make sense?

Upon inspection, SpongeBob discovered the lemons weren't real. They were wax fruit. In fact, some weren't even fake lemons. SpongeBob was curiously looking over a baseball spray painted yellow when he heard the voice.

"You there! Drop the fruit!"

SpongeBob dropped the ball (literally) and turned around. He was met with the familiar barrel of a blue, metallic gun pointed squarely at his face. But SpongeBob didn't cower at the sight of the weapon; instead he immediately started to gush like a fanboy.

"Wow! I've seen that weapon before!" he exclaimed cheerfully. "The Super Ray Blaster 4.0 with photon laser power and four different brain-frying settings from episodes 302, 405, 908, and mentioned in 603!"

Man Ray pulled the gun back, giving the weapon a couple proud pats. "Oh, you noticed? It is a pretty nice one, isn't it?" he asked, his tone changed to an almost giddy one.

"Boy, is it! It's a total classic! I didn't think there were any working ones left."

"I'm so glad you like it," said Man Ray, his voice returning to its normal harshness. "Because now I won't feel so bad about shooting you with it."

"Huh?"

SpongeBob heard three empty clicks as the old weapon stalled, then finally a loud _ZAP_. That's all he remembered before everything went black.

* * *

SpongeBob never would have bothered to venture out to the lair if it wasn't for an incident that occurred three days earlier. It was a beautiful, sunny day out at Jellyfish Fields. Certainly not the kind of day you'd expect to run into a super-villain — SpongeBob had always had the mindset that they preferred the cliché dark, stormy night. Or at least overcast.

He felt safe sitting in the lush grass of the jellyfish's meadow, contently blowing bubbles to pass the time. It was nice to do it alone sometimes, as it allowed him practice without feeling inadequate to any onlookers.

SpongeBob blew bubble after bubble after bubble, trying to get it exactly right. _'Textures can be tricky,'_ he thought to himself as he inspected his latest attempt at a coconut.

The bubbles didn't just pop afterwards. Though blown for practice, they were still high quality, and could stand to float on for quite the distance. It was when they continued on out of Jellyfish Fields and into the view of a certain villain that SpongeBob was finally disturbed from his solitary hobby.

"What do you think you're doing?"

SpongeBob glanced behind him. He couldn't believe it — hovering right there in the field with him was the Dirty Bubble. Yes, _the_ Dirty Bubble. His favorite super-villain.

"Oh, my gosh!" he quickly exclaimed. "I'm your biggest fan!"

"What's with all this?!" asked the Dirty Bubble in an angry, offended tone.

"Oh! I'm blowing bubbles," replied SpongeBob, giddy as ever.

The Dirty Bubble widened his eyes. He hadn't expected that answer; he wasn't familiar with this so-called sport of SpongeBob's. In fact, he'd come over in the assumption someone was trying to pick a fight with him — those creations could feel quite bubble-cist to someone unfamiliar with the practice.

Then a naughty thought crossed the Dirty Bubble's mind. He couldn't help it; this sponge was just setting him up. "So you like _blowing bubbles?_" he asked with a wicked grin.

"DO I!" exclaimed SpongeBob. "I love it! I do it all the time!"

The Dirty Bubble cackled, amused by the double entendre. "You wanna do it right now?"

"I already am, silly!"

"I meant a bigger bubble."

"How big?"

"_Very_ big."

"Wow! Okay! Let me get my bubble wand ready!"

"You don't need it," said the Dirty Bubble. "All we need is a secluded area. Like your house." He hesitated. "You know what? I'm feeling kinky. Bring the bubble wand."

As the two made their way to the pineapple, SpongeBob grew increasingly more confused. The Dirty Bubble's comments were sounding less and less like they were about bubbles, and more and more dirty. And he just wouldn't stop snickering the entire time he floated along beside the sponge.

SpongeBob should have seen it as a red flag when the bubble asked how he felt about eating dirt, but he was too naïve for that.

In fact, he was so naïve that he didn't understand the Dirty Bubble's intentions until they were at the pineapple, in bed, and had been explained that _no_ they were _not_ having 'breakfast in bed' or 'a sleepover' or 'any other stupid thing except having sex.'

When they finally did get to the main event, it only lasted one second. One sixtieth of a minute. A brief flash in time.

Unless you count SpongeBob's crying afterwards. Then it was over three hours.

* * *

SpongeBob awoke to the sound of voices talking. He couldn't remember at first what had happened; it took a few minutes for the recollection of being shot to return. The thought of what an impressive weapon had been used on him quickly followed. That's the way a fanboy's mind works.

SpongeBob could tell he was lying down. He tried to sit up, but felt too weak. He listened to the two voices speaking a short distance away.

"Would you shut up about your surface tension already?"

"Oh, come on. You gotta admit, it's pretty impressive."

"You've been talking about it for nearly an hour!"

SpongeBob recognized both voices, but the second one especially caught his attention. He squinted his eyes through the dark lair, trying to see if it was true. When the image focused, he had to cover his mouth to prevent squealing out in delight — the Dirty Bubble _was_ still alive. He was sitting next to Man Ray at a table. Both villains were hunched over it, sipping drinks.

SpongeBob tried again to get up. This time he was able to stand, shakily at first. He started to creep toward the exit. Hopefully they wouldn't notice a quiet escape.

"What are we gonna do with that sponge kid's body?" asked Man Ray.

The Dirty Bubble snickered. "I can think of a few things I'd like to do to it."

"What the … Neptune, I meant _disposing_ of it! You're sick!"

"Why else do you think I'm called the _Dirty_ Bubble?"

Still halfway from the exit, SpongeBob giggled at the comment. Out loud. He immediately realized his mistake and covered his mouth with his hands.

But it was too late; the two villains had heard and sprang up from the table. They began to close in on him.

SpongeBob saw them angrily approaching and backed himself up against the wall. "Please don't hurt me!" he pleaded. "I love you guys!"

They both laughed evilly. The Dirty Bubble ended his abruptly and snapped at Man Ray, "I thought you said he was dead."

"I thought he was!" replied Man Ray. "I guess my old ray gun doesn't work like it used to."

"I thought _you _were dead!" said SpongeBob, still pinning himself against the lair's wall in fear.

"_Me?_" asked the Dirty Bubble, seeing that SpongeBob was pointing at him. "Why would _I_ be dead?"

"I heard a rumor that you died!"

The Dirty Bubble just stared back at him with a confused expression.

"You know …" continued SpongeBob. "Dead. Deceased. Croaked. Kicked the bucket. Gone belly up. Or I guess in your case, popped, burst, ruptured, jabbed, poked—"

The Dirty Bubble chuckled. "I _was_ poked. You should know, you were the one who did it."

"_Ugh!_" said Man Ray, grimacing. "You must be joking. Don't tell me you and that sponge actually …"

The bubble laughed wickedly once more, confirming Man Ray's suspicions. "What a silly rumor though. From 'poked' to 'dead' — how many people did that one go through to get changed so much?"

"So you weren't popped?"

"Oh, I was. Stupid sponge didn't let me explain how it works with bubbles. Isn't that right, so-called Sponge of Mystery?" The Dirty Bubble looked down and saw SpongeBob was no longer there. Awkward pause. "Oh, he's gone."

"You let him get away!" said Man Ray. "If it wasn't for you running your dirty mouth—"

The Dirty Bubble cut him off, chuckling again. "Oh, this reminds me of the time I went to Cancún with the Killer Shrimp—"

"Oh, I hate this story—"

"They had these papaya drinks that were to die for! We got so wasted and—"

"Okay, we can talk about your stupid surface tension again. Anything besides your perversions, _please!_"

The end.


	9. DirtyBob: Popup Blocker

**TM WAZ HERE, BITCH (um, I mean "author's note"): Well, this was a bitch and a half to write. And I still don't think the perversion came (haha, she sayed "came") out as intended. Oh well. Unlike the goddesses who wrote before me, this fic does NOT follow an episode . . . really. In fact, I pretty much popped their characters completely. Oh well. At least it isn't technically porn. It's PWP without the first "P". It's just "without plot". You know. Ooh, and a random title, too! This fic just has it all!**

_Popup Blocker_

Neither could remember how they'd joined in such a way. But it had happened, nonetheless. And now, for some inexplicable reason, SpongeBob was inside him, squirming and twitching and thrusting awkwardly.

The larger male cackled, expanding his body around the sponge, "Work it, SpongeBaby!"

SpongeBob whimpered, pushing harder, grinding fully against the soft wall, sweating from overexertion. He bit his lower lip, drawing away for a moment, eyes examining fretfully before throwing himself harder, faster, desperate to poke through.

Push.

Press.

Shove.

Pant, breathe, gasp . . .

Thrust!

The panic fueled behind each passionate jab of sweating sponge flesh only accelerated the recipient's joy, laughter now reaching unbearable crescendos.

Until SpongeBob found his weak spot, thus ending any giggling.

Sensing weakness, SpongeBob drew back, poking tentatively, noting the twitching and almost fearful moaning from the receiver, prodding harder still, before finally busting through, breaking boundaries, liquid spewing . . .

Bubble soap everywhere, remnants of the Dirty Bubble covering the now freed SpongeBob. He blinked, relieved to finally be on the ground after having been trapped in that soapy prison. It had taken a lot of pushing, but he'd finally managed to pop him.

And so SpongeBob skipped merrily home, content in his triumph over evil.

- - - - - - - - - - -

"But I popped you this morning!" He backed up against the wall, spatula out like a sword.

"Oh ho ho, what are you gonna do with that?" The Dirty Bubble raised an eyebrow, cackling in delighted imaginings.

SpongeBob frowned, surveying first the spatula, then the super villain, back to Spat again, then rebounding for a final time towards evil. "Uh . . ."

"_Pop_ me?" Dirty Bubble suggested coyly.

SpongeBob's eyes widened, grin on his face. Sure, THAT would get rid of evil for SURE! "Yeah! Hey, thanks for telling me how to defeat you."

"Sure, no proble-"

Pop.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"See you tomorrow, Mr. Krabs!" SpongeBob called over his shoulder, skipping merrily out the door . . .

And bouncing right off a spherical surface, flat on his back to the ground.

"Oomph," He opened his eyes slowly, still stuck on the sidewalk. Blue orbs landed, once again, on the chortling visage of the Dirty Bubble. "Hey! I KNOW I popped you a few hours ago!"

"Guess you didn't pop me hard enough," SpongeBob's favorite (and logic defying) villain replied. "Why don't you give me another go?"

SpongeBob frowned. "But why should I pop you? You aren't breaking any laws right now."

"I'm loitering."

SpongeBob gasped. "NOOOOO!!!!! Fiend, I'll get Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy to . . ."

"Don't bother. They're . . ." Dramatic pause here. "Napping!"

SpongeBob jumped to his feet. "You won't get away with this, Dirty Bubble. Not as long as I'm here to stop you!"

"Well, what are you gonna do about it?"

"I'm gonna . . . um . . . I'm . . . um . . ." He smiled meekly, lowering his voice slightly. "Um, what would Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy do in a situation like this?"

"They'd pop me."

"Right! Which is just what I must do as well!" He fumbled through his pockets, finally discovering what he was looking for.

"Hmm, a Sharpie?" Dirty Bubble nodded (well, bobbed up and down-you can't nod without a neck). "Interesting choice!"

"Yeah. Write out loud!" SpongeBob explained.

"Are they sponsoring this fic?"

"Them and Aussie gel mousse."

"People still use that stuff?"

"I do!"

"Neptune, you are SO nineteen eighties!"

"I know, I know, but it gives my hair that added bounce." SpongeBob posed, hand cocked on his chin, pouting demurely.

"Wait, you don't have any hair."

"Well, if I did, I would use mousse. Big hair is so COOL!"

"Yeah yeah, whatever. Can we end this blasted product placement bullshit? This is more evil than my perverted attempts at tainting your naivety."

SpongeBob snapped back into ass kicking mode, uncapped hot pink Sharpie™ in hand. "RARRR!" He screamed (guess that's like a gay battle cry or something), ink blasting into the Dirty Bubble's cavity of a body, pinkifying before completely popping.

SpongeBob laughed, recapping the marker-pen-thingy. "Well SquarePants, you've done it again," he congratulated himself, dusting some soap suds from his body. "Guess I better go home and get some sleep. Heroism takes its toll on me."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Being woken out of the greatest Freudian dream involving Squidward and a bassinet (not Squidward IN a bassinet-SpongeBob wasn't THAT kinky) also takes its toll on sponges. Especially when he found himself face to face with, once again, the Dirty Bubble.

"Eep!"

"What's wrong, SpongeBitch? Didn't expect me to "cum" back so soon? Ohhahahaha!"

"B-bu-bu-but, I-I-I popped you!" He trembled, sinking deeper into the covers. "I popped you three times already!"

"Heh heh heh, I know. And I'm ready for a round four. How 'bout you, SpongeSkank?"

SpongeBob managed to ignore the improper pronunciation of his name, instead fumbling with the meaning behind those words. "Wait a minute . .. there's a reason you want me to pop you, isn't there?"

"Took you this long to figure it out?" Dirty Bubble lost his smile at this point, tilting in midair in confusion. "I mean, I heard you were really innocent, but really? You really thought you were crime fighting that whole time?"

SpongeBob stroked his bottom lip. "Hmm . . .I know there's gotta be a reason you keep provoking me into popping you."

"You can figure it out, SpongeCunt! I believe in you!" This was only half sarcasm, sadly. The truth was, the Dirty Bubble (as evil as he indeed was) had a thing for rooting for the underdog. He loved when good triumphed over basic common knowledge.

"I mean, why would you keep running into me if you didn't somehow WANT to get popped. But I just can't understand why . . ."

"You can do it, Sponge. . . um . . .hold on, let me think of a witty one syllable sex term to replace "Bob" with . . . dick? No, too overused . . . cock? Sure, that sounds more forceful. But too masculine. Boob . . .nah, too predictable . . . ooh, I got it! Go, SpongeTits! Go all the way, bucko!"

"You LIKE getting popped!" SpongeBob exclaimed, finally starting to comprehend. Then, pausing, turning to the bubble for verification. "Right?"

"You got it, SpongeClit." Then, shuddering. "Okay, that one was dirty, even for me."

"You like it when I pop you . . . but I just don't understand why. I mean, shouldn't that kill you?"

The Dirty Bubble would have shrugged, had he had shoulders. "We all got our fetishes, kid."

"What's a fetish?"

His eyes lit up. "You really ARE naïve, aren't you? Goody, I have an innocence fetish as well!" Man Ray had NOTHING on the awesome pseudo-sexual day the Dirty Bubble was having. He couldn't WAIT to rub it in his big ugly face.

But first, he had a sexual fantasy to fulfill.

"Grr, kid, I'm gonna getcha!" He lunged, teeth gnashing at air.

SpongeBob squeaked, clawing out without thinking, tearing at the tender flesh until nothing remained.

Ah, sweet release.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Everything appeared to be back to normal. No more bubbles forcing penetration out of the youthful boy.

SpongeBob relaxed, hands behind his heads as he watched the clouds (well, flower-thingys . . .you know). So pretty. That one looked like a jellyfish. That one looked like a Krabby Patty. That one looked like . . .

"Man Ray?" He gawked, the tall villain glaring down from overhead.

"Hey kid." Nobody outdid Man Ray. Sure, they may call him the "Dirty" Bubble, but he was no man! Or ray. Or whatever.

The simple fact was, NOBODY out fetished Man Ray!

"What a surprise!" SpongeBob squealed. "Have you come back for more goodness lessons?"

"Um . . .sure," He lied. "Why don't you follow me into this dark, secluded cave."

"Ooh, okay." SpongeBob joined hands with him, skipping merrily. "But I didn't bring any lesson plans. How am I supposed to teach you to be good?"

"Don't worry," Man Ray reassured, "I brought the tickle belt."


End file.
